


Five Times Mike Ross Was a Terrible Vampire and One Time He Wasn't

by ladyknightanka



Category: Suits (TV)
Genre: Angst and Humor, Crack, M/M, Romance, Sexual Content, Vampires, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-09
Updated: 2011-08-09
Packaged: 2017-10-22 16:58:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/240319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyknightanka/pseuds/ladyknightanka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mike may be a puppy, but he's Harvey's puppy and he has fangs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Times Mike Ross Was a Terrible Vampire and One Time He Wasn't

**Author's Note:**

> ~3600w. Harvey/Mike, vaguely inspired by [this prompt](http://suitsmeme.livejournal.com/1110.html?thread=580694#t580694) on [](http://suitsmeme.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://suitsmeme.livejournal.com/)**suitsmeme** , but I didn't follow it to a 't'.

-

Five Times Mike Ross Was a Terrible Vampire and One Time He Wasn't

-

 

**(I)**

 

Harvey Specter stood in front of his office doors and frowned, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up. Donna was nowhere to be seen, probably still on her lunch break, and every blind inside the glass structure was drawn. That was...unusual, to say the least, especially when coupled with how the lights had also been flicked off.

 

Harvey wasn't one to panic irrationally, though he and paranoia were as appropriately acquainted as a good lawyer should be, but with his bumbling associate missing and the documents they needed for their latest case MIA with him, he had to re-print them from his computer so he could have some sort of viable reference, even if they hadn't been proofread yet. After all, his meeting with his newest client was in less than half an hour.

 

Rationalizing this, he loped into his office with his back straight, heading directly for his desk, when suddenly an eerie moan sounded. Harvey froze, looking around the dark room suspiciously, before doubling back to flip the light switch up. He was no coward, but wise men knew that being brave and being stupid were often synonymous, and Harvey Specter did not _do_ stupid.

 

The groan rang out again, this time more comprehensible. “Tuuurn it oooff! Turn the lights off!”

 

Harvey pursed his lips and increased his gait, halting at his desk, where he rapped the expensive wood sharply. “Don't tell me you're under there, Mike.”

 

“ Uh...” He heard movement within the cove of the antique object, before an unruly head of blond hair popped out, roving around so that his associate's big blue eyes were boring into him pitifully. “I was, but...”

 

“But what, Mike?” Harvey rebutted, both bemused and considerably amused. “What reason could you _possibly_ have to sequester yourself under my desk?”

 

“It was the lights!” the younger man exclaimed, unwinding himself to expose his lanky frame, his once pristine suit crinkled from his previously folded position. “T-t-the sunlight and the office lights and _everything_. Too bright! Your office may have glass walls, but it also has an arsenal of curtains to shut.”

 

Harvey regarded his associate's flushed face, then mused, “I thought you were a – what do you call it? – a dhampir? I gave you this job partly because you said the usual Achilles' Heels wouldn't affect you and a vampire – a veritable wolf in sheep's clothing – with all the strengths, but none of the fallacies is a tool _Pearson Hardman_ can utilize.”

 

“And I'm not generally bothered,” Mike quickly amended, tugging unbecomingly at his ugly skinny tie. “Not fully, anyway. If I wasn't a dhampir, I'd be burnt to a crispy critter by the sun's heat and the hundred degree weather the second I stepped out, but I just have a...really bad migraine right now. It's one of the few side-effects.”

 

He wilted pathetically again, his chin quivering, and if it was anyone else, Harvey would tell him to suck it up – no pun intended – and get back to his cubicle ASAP.

 

Instead, he said, “Tell you what, you give me those briefs I requested,   
_proofed_ , within the next ten minutes, and I'll convince Donna to share her painkillers with you.”

 

“B-but Harvey, she has Midol! That's for girls!” Mike stammered. When his boss quirked an eyebrow at him, he rushed off despite his incredulity, recognizing the take-it-or-leave-it gesture for what it was, and Harvey smirked after him.

 

This was why everyone in the office thought _he_ , rather than the inept little pup, was the bloodsucking leech, and he was perfectly fine with that.

 

-

 

**(II)**

 

Harvey waved goodbye to Ray without looking back at the man, his spare hand occupied by the small cup of coffee he'd picked up from the cafe near _Pearson Hardman_. It was a light day for him, with all of his clientele meetings already taken care of, so he'd decided to indulge himself a bit, but now he had to ensure that Mike hadn't screwed up the subpoenas they needed for court on Friday. If he left his puppy alone for too long, he'd probably come home to torn furniture and unseemly stains, and that just wouldn't do.

 

He stepped out of the elevator and started for his associate's cubicle, but even before he arrived, he knew something was wrong. A few of the Harvard douches – Sean? Steve? George? Gerard? – were giggling and, while passing Rachel, he noted the relieved, if subtle, look she shot him.

 

He realized why when he saw the way Mike was trapped against the barrier around his desk, Louis crowded into his space and jabbing a finger at his chest. Upon closer inspection, he saw that Mike had hunched in on himself desperately, his eyes glassy like he wanted to cry.

 

“When Specter is not here–” Louis was spitting, his ratlike sneer etched garishly into place.

 

“Oh, but he is,” Harvey broke in charmingly, with false cheer, stepping between the two men. He felt Mike lean forward behind him, to drop his forehead against his back, and was glad that the younger man was minutely shorter than him, so that Louis couldn't see. “Was there something you needed to discuss with me, Louis? Because your wife said we could wait till tonight.”

 

Louis redirected his scowl up to Harvey's face, then sniveled, “I was simply telling Ross here to finish up with the Adams-Macht merger papers. He's been a little slow on the upkeep lately.”

 

“But Louis,” Harvey replied, blinking innocuously, “why would he do that, when he's supposed to handle _my_ court documents?”

 

“Specter, the firm's success should matter more than your bloated ego! When you aren't here, all of the associates, including your little peon, are under _my_ charge!” Louis exclaimed, his weaselly voice picking up in pitch, drawing unwanted attention from others in the office.

 

“Put it back in your pants,” Harvey answered, turning his head away in disgust. “That's what your wife tells you, doesn't she?” Louis opened his mouth to reply, outrage evident on his face, but Harvey dipped his head a little lower, his own voice dropping to a whisper. “And, like I told you before, stay away from my associate or I'll make sure there's nothing _to_ tuck back.”

 

He watched the older partner's skin bleach to a sickly white, before Louis stalked off, leaving him alone with a grateful Mike. “Thank you, Harvey, thank you!”

 

“It's fine, but honestly, you've got to grow a pair, kid. Tell him to fuck off and he will. If he causes shit, I'll back you up.” He was tempted to add something along the lines of not caring again, but that ship had long since sailed, and Harvey wasn't one to cry over spilled milk.

 

“I-I was going to,” Mike mumbled, soft enough that Harvey completely doubted his affirmation. “He really caught me off guard, though.”

 

“What did he say?” Harvey inquired curiously, his lips thinning. Maybe he'd have to have a talk with Jessica about Louis' dogged harassment of his employee.

 

Then, Mike reddened, running a hand through his hair sheepishly, and the warning bells simmered down. “Uh, it's not what he _said_ , exactly, so much as that he...had garlic breath,” he finished lamely.

 

“...What?” Harvey blinked, genuinely befuddled now, unsure whether he'd heard his associate correctly.

 

“You know, um, he really likes pizza and I-I guess I'm allergic to garlic. Or something,” Mike explained, looking anywhere but at his boss. “It makes me sick. I was trying to hold my breath, but didn't want to be too obvious about it. I think I would've thrown up all over him if you hadn't shown up when you did.”

 

Harvey sighed, shaking his head, and ordered, “Get back to work, Mike,” smiling wanly when the kid immediately complied. He took a sip of his coffee, wincing at how lukewarm it had become, then headed toward his office.

 

The next day, a gift certificate for a lifetime supply of breath-mints found its way to Louis' desk. If anyone asked, Harvey would claim that he'd only bought it to nettle his coworker that much more, but Mike's pleasure when Louis actually grew a taste for them was definitely a plus.

 

-

 

**(III)**

 

“I can't deal with this right now!” Rachel Zane's voice boomed, disrupting Harvey's zen. “Just – _just go away, Mike_!”

 

“Rachel, w-wait,” Mike cried, trailing after her cautiously, like a puppy that had been kicked one too many times. She disappeared down a corner, her heels clicking dangerously, and Harvey interjected before Mike could make to follow her any further, dropping a heavy hand onto his associate's narrow shoulder. “Oh, hi, Harvey,” Mike muttered, disappointment wafting off of him in spades.

 

Harvey ignored the burn at that – because, come on, how could anyone pick a pretty paralegal over _him_? – and asked, “What did you do?” in the mockingly patronizing way that he had down to pat.

 

“I didn't do anything!” Mike answered defensively, but when Harvey didn't relent, he sighed. “She was finally starting to forgive me for the LSATs thing. Then, last night, she had dinner with another of her friends who I helped to pass the bar and now she's mad all over again.”

 

Harvey grimaced at the thought of all the idiots out there, wrongfully practicing law thanks to Mike's ingenuity, before changing the subject with a sardonic tut, linking both hands over his heart. “And here I thought vampires could literally charm the skirt off of any woman. You've deceived me, Edward.”

 

Mike gaped. “Y-you read Twilight, Harvey?” he stuttered disbelievingly.

 

“No,” Harvey replied, waving a hand in dismissal. “I'm a Dracula man, myself. He was always so impeccably dressed, especially when dining, which is yet another myth you've disillusioned me of.”

 

Mike frowned down at his cheap shoes, only proving his boss's point, then huffed, “You wouldn't want me prowling around in a cape, anyway. That's even more douchey than a vest.”

 

“That's true,” Harvey agreed. “That level of sophistication is probably more my style than yours.”

 

With a final grin, he strutted off, feeling as if a regal cape was training in his wake, awing Mike and all those around him. He'd have to ask Rene, later, about the practicality of wearing one.

 

-

 

**(IV)**

 

Harvey was annoyed, intensely eying the area just outside his office, parallel to Donna's desk, awaiting the moment when his clumsy prey would be in his sights – and, subsequently, in his jaws.

 

After a few minutes of this, his assistant grew tired of the death glare and cried, “If you're so worried about him, why don't you just go looking yourself?” She threw up her arms in an exasperated motion, as if he was a particularly hardheaded child.

 

Harvey leveled her with an affronted glare, then stood up. “I need to stretch, anyway.”

 

“Yes, that's why,” Donna indulged, smirking. “I'm sure it has nothing to do with how sick he looked earlier, huh?”

 

Harvey ignored her and didn't bother to sidestep any of the coworkers who were unfortunate enough to cross his path, choosing to let them nervously dodge him, before halting at Mike's cubicle – Mike's _empty_ cubicle. His gaze tracked from the printing room to the stairs that led down to the filing cabinets, but his protege had simply disappeared.

 

Two fingers tapped hesitantly against his shoulder, just as he was about to turn on his heel in that direction, expecting it to be Mike, but another associate, the jackass he knew to be Kyle, stood there.

 

“Ross stepped out, sir,” he began snidely, eliciting a laugh from a couple of his minions, “but one of us would certainly be happy to pick up the slack.”

 

Harvey didn't even bother to deign the offer with a response, glowering slightly as he inquired, “Where is Mike?” his tone brooking no room for argument.

 

“I-I'm not sure,” Kyle answered, his bravado waning.

 

“I think I saw him head to the bathroom,” one of the others added. “The, er, single stall one with a lock.”

 

In thanks, Harvey nodded once, albeit curtly, but an expression of alleviation passed over all of the associates' faces, and they seemed almost thankful when he left them to Louis, who was skulking his way over, to find Mike.

 

A quick knock confirmed that his little rookie was, indeed, locked in the bathroom. “Who's it?” Mike slurred through the door. “It's occupied.”

 

“Not for me, it's not,” Harvey returned persistently. “Open the door, Mike. Now.”

 

There was a brief pause, before a sigh echoed, followed by the chink of the lock and the knob turning. A white-knuckled hand reached out and grabbed Harvey by the lapels, sparing no consideration to the delicate material of his suit, and tugged him into the confined, though clean bathroom.

 

Harvey opened his mouth to protest the abuse, but one look at Mike's pale, drawn face made his jaw snap shut, as he demanded, “What's wrong with you?”

 

“I...just haven't fed, is all,” Mike said, grinning weakly.

 

“Okay,” Harvey accepted, still scrutinizing the younger man with a hawkish intensity. He didn't buy the chipper attitude for a second, when measuring it against Mike's gray pallor, the near blue of his lips and how blown his irises had become. “I know I said that I worked a hundred hours a week in your position, kid, and while I admire your foolhardy dedication, I wouldn't object to you taking ten minutes to get a hotdog from the vendor outside. If you think I'm _that_ much of a hardass, I'm not sure I should be flattered.”

 

“No, no, Harvey, I haven't _fed_.” Mike put a special emphasis on the final word, his speech spilling out from gritted teeth now, and it took only a moment for it to click.

 

“Oh,” Harvey murmured, his brow furrowing. “Well, I'll admit that they're dicks, but I can't have you going around and eating the rest of the firm's employees.” He briefly mulled over whether he should give Mike the okay to eat Louis, but if Jessica ever found out, and she had her ways, she would eat _him_ and wear his remains as macabre jewelry.

 

“I don't eat people!” Mike declared, fuming. “You already know I don't, but...the cravings won't go away. I'm so hungry _all the time_ ,” and it's killing me, he didn't add, but he didn't actually have to.

 

“What did you do before?” Harvey inquired, using more tact and tenderness than was characteristic for him.

 

Mike noticed, as Mike noticed practically everything, and smiled again. This time, his teeth flashed disconcertingly in the synthetic lights of the room, almost inspiring Harvey to squirm. _Almost_.

 

“I just bought – _buy –_ pig blood from the local butcher shop and it's anatomically similar enough that it worked, for the most part. And when it didn't, the weed curbed the itch.” Mike ducked his head, ashamed, and Harvey schooled his mask of repulsion into that of tolerance, knowing that his being a prude about this wouldn't help anything.

 

“But it's not working anymore, is it? And you're not using, either,” he finished for his associate, knowing it was true, in the deepest core of his being, before Mike could even manage a nod. Harvey sighed, taking in the younger man's despondent countenance, then motioned for him to stand up and away from the sole toilet in the room, its plastic top down. “I am going to sit down on that thing, hoping your ass cleaned most of the germs from it, and possibly wrinkle the sleeve of a shirt that's worth more than your entire wardrobe so that you can survive. Appreciate my beneficence.”

 

Mike stared at him, wide-eyed and more than vaguely horrified. “Are you sure, Harvey?” he breathed. “I haven't done this in...”

 

“I'm always sure,” Harvey interrupted, doing exactly as explicated to strip his wrist bare. “Just try to be neat about it and, for God's sake, _don't_ kill me, Mike!”

 

“Yes, sir,” Mike replied, so earnest and eager to please that Harvey gruffly glanced away, and when those full lips latched onto his skin, the older man told himself that it was only to keep Mike from dying a pathetic death, deserved by not even an alleyway mutt. The surge of pleasure that rushed through his spine – pooling in certain, unmentionable areas – spoke otherwise, however, mixing headily with the pain of his associate's bite. Maybe there was something to the stories of vampire enthrallment, after all.

 

-

 

**(V)**

 

For a week after their moment of intimacy in the bathroom, Harvey couldn't stop thinking about Mike – of the sensual way he'd moved his mouth along Harvey's wrist, how he'd kissed the bleeding area after he had finished, how appreciative he was toward his boss since and before then – _always_. For a week, he suffered, before he remembered that Harvey Specter did not wait for the things he wanted, he went _after_ them, and this was no different.

 

If he found that it had been nothing more than a free meal to Mike, he might have begrudgingly let it slide, but when Harvey extended an invitation back to his condo, donning the same sultry smile that brought both women and men to their knees, Mike accepted like a puppy on kibble.

 

Which was why they were inside his flat now, Mike pressed seductively up against his bedroom wall, the younger man's cheap slacks already pooled on the ground at their feet, in a position reminiscent of the one he'd recently held Scotty in. It was a good thing he kept up with the visits to the gym and the boxing lessons.

 

Mike threw his head back in an aroused gasp, thrusting his hips forward wantonly, and Harvey was jarred back into the moment, lowering his own head to nip at the ivory column of his associate's throat.

 

“Oh, yes, Harvey, _yes_!” Mike cried, his nails digging, unnaturally sharp, into the broad line of his boss's shoulders, prompting Harvey to swing him around till they hit the mattress. “Fuck me, fuck me, _fuck me now_ ,” he was chanting, the mantra in tandem to the throbbing of Harvey's dick.

 

A smirk formed on the older lawyer's lips, shifting against the bruised juncture between Mike's neck and torso, and he murmured, “As you wish,” into it, then bit down again. Mike allowed him this, allowed Harvey to pin him down by his wrists, with another keening, siren song of a cry, like the mythic lamia that his kind were sometimes associated with.

 

Harvey wasn't sure whether to attribute the sheer perfection of the moment to Mike's dual nature, but either way, it gave him an explicit taste of the many, _many_ future times they'd have together.

 

-

 

**(VI)**

 

_Blitzkrieg_ (n): a compound, Germanic word that meant 'lightning war' – an attack that blindsided its hapless victim.

 

The gun that whipped across Harvey's face, three blocks away from his high profile client's home, definitely applied as such, causing his vision to bleed black for a terrifying moment, darker than the night sky overhead, before colorful spots started to dance across it.

 

That wasn't very shocking, though. Muggers, after all, weren't expected to be considerate, so it wasn't _that_ which he classified as a blitzkrieg. It was Mike.

 

Mike – his endearing, puppy-like, bleeding heart associate – who had brushed him aside, as if he was no more than a wobbling toddler, to wrench the gun from the masked man's grasp and bear down on him, his fists flying so fast that Harvey was abruptly, jarringly, reminded of how _inhuman_ Mike was, for all his naïve, adorable charm.

 

He attempted to call his associate's name, but the word was stuck in his throat, dying like the muted whimpers of the mugger, and by the time Harvey finally gathered the mettle to murmur, “Mike,” the man had already gone still. _Unconscious_ , he told himself, because it was easier to swallow.

 

Mike figured that, too, and released the mugger carelessly, a dull thump reverberating when the man hit the ground, before he whipped around to face Harvey, who drew back without intending to. It was Mike's eyes, usually as bright as the summer sky, which were glowing now, catlike and feral, and though it was too dark to tell, blood gleamed faintly on his knuckles.

 

This Mike was different – was _dangerous –_ and he'd been holding it all back until now, every time he let Harvey, Louis or anyone else bully him into doing what he didn't want, every time he submitted to them. It was a chilling thought.

 

But then Mike surged forward, the fingers of one hand clinging to Harvey's jacket, while the other traced affectionately over his rapidly contusing cheek.

 

“Oh Harvey,” Mike whispered, “he hurt you. He really hurt you.”

 

And if it wasn't for Mike, the mugger would have injured him more or even killed him. Just this once, because no one was around to notice, Harvey let his forehead touch against the younger man's.

 

“I'm okay,” he replied, not really talking about the mugging. Mike smiled, his face beaming beautifully, supernaturally, in the night.

 

He understood.  
 

  


-

And So Suits Became Gayer Than An Anne Rice Novel

-

 

  
**  
A/N:** Yeah, I don't even know. The prompt was cute, though, with Mike being an awkward, clumsy vampire, and it brought back memories of my own vampire groupie days (partly due to the aforementioned homoerotic author, mind you, and not the sparkly ones so infamous today), so I gave it a shot. Hope you all liked it!

  



End file.
